


gleams thy golden blue

by skjei



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: College Hockey, Coming Out, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Notre Dame Fighting Irish, Notre Dame Hockey, Rare Characters, cardiac kids™️, me pouring out my love for this school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 17:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17832788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skjei/pseuds/skjei
Summary: Dylan meets Nick in September of their freshman year.





	gleams thy golden blue

**Author's Note:**

> if you know/are/are associated with either of the people mentioned pleased don’t read this ! 
> 
> title is from the university of notre dame alma mater :*
> 
> ok so BASICALLY this pairing doesn't exist so i made it exist : )
> 
> this is also me just pouring out all my love to the University of Notre Dame aka my dream school aka the school i'm in love with but will never get into. 
> 
> i worked for days and days and days on this so! give it a chance!! thank u ily!!!

Dylan meets Nick in September of their freshman year.

He’s got a little while until the season starts - they both do - but the preparations for the upcoming season are endless. Dylan walks into the Compton locker room and - he can't think of a better place to be.

Dylan’s not a liar - he loved every minute he played for Team USA. It was incredible, seeing the USA crest on the front of his jersey and seemingly forgetting about the name on the back. He owes pretty much everything to the National Development Program, but this is - this is Notre Dame. He’s been waiting for these four years his entire life. And Dylan knows he’s not up for a starting job, because Cale Morris is, well, a stud. But he’s backing up, might get the nod here and there.

So Dylan’s in the locker room, and there’s a couple guys he recognizes, greets, finds his locker. He’s next to Cale, as expected, and a guy with the last name of Sanford.

Dylan knows Sanford is a goalie right away, just glancing at his locker. It’s - he’s not _mad_ , because Dylan might be an asshole sometimes but he’s not _that_ big of an asshole. He looks at Cale, who’s taping his stick next to him, and he only shrugs. Dylan decides he doesn’t care, and that he’s going to become friends with this Sanford guy.

Unless he’s also a lacrosse player. Dylan’s not going to fuck with any lacrosse players.

He talks with Cale a little bit, mostly about Notre Dame and the campus and about championship games and such. He forgets about Sanford almost immediately, and his excitement builds for the season like a kid when they see candy.

Someone walks into the locker room, and Dylan doesn’t turn his head until that someone sits to his right. Sanford.

Dylan wants to turn and look but he’s not - he’s not _that_ eager. Thankfully, Sanford turns toward him, looks past the board that divides their lockers.

He smiles, warmly. “Hey, m’Nick,” and Dylan might not. You know. Breathe again. San - _Nick’s_ hair is pretty much perfectly blonde and he’s wearing a tight ND hoodie that pretty much outlines his whole chest. Like. How is that fair.

Dylan runs a hand through his hair, self conscious all of a sudden. “Hey, Dylan,” he says with an attempt to smile. He doesn’t stare when Nick gives a smile to Cale, and when Cale smiles back. He doesn’t, Dylan swears.

Nick drums his fingers against his knees. He’s wearing shorts. “You know what we’re doing today?” he asks Dylan, and Dylan knows exactly what they’re doing, specifically not doing, but still can’t really seem to answer.

He does, eventually. “Think we’re just looking around the room today, practice tomorrow,” Nick nods simply, stretches out his legs.

The door to the locker room bursts open, and the atmosphere is already lightened. Dylan knows its Bobby - Bobby Nardella - but he definitely didn’t look at the roster over and over again. Nope. Why would he.

“Let’s fucking go, boys!” he yells, pumping his fists in the air and Dylan chuckles, while Nick bursts into full out laughter. Dylan glances over for a brief moment, toward Nick, and he’s got his eyes close, hat backward and he’s grinning, wide. Dylan smiles at his lap, after, until Bobby’s calmed down and chaos diminishes. Nick turns toward Dylan.

“You wanna walk around campus?” he asks, completely chill and Dylan nods too quickly.

“Sure, yeah,” and Dylan thinks he’s a fucking idiot because Nick only needed one fucking _answer_. Nick’s mouth curls upward and he stands up, stretches, holds a hand out for Dylan. Dylan takes it, and Nick pulls him swiftly up from the locker. Nick pats him on the back, once Dylan’s standing up, and they walk out of the locker room and seemingly into freshman year.

 

Dylan gets his first career start in October against Alabama Huntsville.

Dylan laughs when he gets back to his dorm, after he’s told, because seriously, who the _fuck_ is Alabama Huntsville. He sprawls out onto his bed, on the left of the room, feeling his chest rise and fall. His roommates not back yet, from study, Dylan presumes. Dylan really _should_ study, but he’s - he’s _starting_. He’s going to play for the University of Notre Dame. Dylan gets up, walks toward the window. The North quad doesn’t overlook anything special, just lawns and paths filled with hundreds of students. He sighs, content enough, and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He goes into messages, taps on his and Nick’s conversation.

 **dylan**  
i’m starting

Dylan hopes Nick knows what he means. He waits about a minute and 43 seconds before Nick responds.

 **nick**  
dude

 **nick**  
are you kidding

Dylan smiles, leans on the AC.

 **dylan**  
not kidding

 **nick**  
that’s fucking insane

 **nick**  
i feel like a proud dad

Dylan rubs his eyes, and his cheeks hurt from smiling. He’s about to type out a response before another message pops up.

 **nick**  
meet at de grasta in grace in 5. we gotta fuckin celebrate!! :))))

Dylan knows exactly where it is - Cafe De Grasta. He and Nick had already been there a couple of times so that Dylan could fuel his caffeine addiction. Grace Hall isn’t his hall, but it’s Nick’s, so he always figure that it’s fine if he goes. As long as Nick’s there with him. He has that mindset a lot.

 **dylan**  
see u there

When Dylan gets there, after walking, (and fuck admission for not allowing first year first semester car privileges) Nick’s already there, sitting at a table. He grins when he sees Dylan and Dylan laughs with a smile. Nick gets up, walks toward Dylan and hangs his arm over his shoulder. Dylan feels small, because Nick’s a good four inches taller than him. They head towards the line.

“You’re gonna fucking kill it, man,” Nick says, almost at a whisper, and Dylan’s not a super confident guy, but he really thinks that he will.

 

He does.

Dylan and the Irish shut Alabama Huntsville out 4-0, and it’s the greatest fucking feeling ever. Him and Nick head back to his dorm after a quick party at Bobby’s, feeling high off the win. Like, maybe - maybe Nick’s not as happy as Dylan. Probably not.

Dylan uses his key card to unlock the room, and to no surprise, Dylan’s roommate is gone. Dylan practically falls onto his bed, onto his back, and Nick sits down onto his roommate’s one. Dylan sighs, rubbing his eyes. Nick pulls his legs up to his chest.

Dylan turns onto his side, back facing the wall and eyes watching Nick. He sees him smile. He falls onto his back again, hears rustling. Nick’s on his roommates bed, until he’s walking over to Dylan and he’s collapsing next to him. Dylan doesn’t ask any questions. They both lay on their backs, eyes on the ceiling.

“How you feelin’?” Nick asks, and Dylan can hear his smile, doesn’t even have to look at him.

“Fucking _incredible_ ,” Dylan replies, and Nick lets out a breathy laugh. Dylan chuckles, hearing Nick, and he could get used to it. This. College.

 

In December, Dylan works up the courage to ask Nick to be his roommate.

It’s partly because his roommate bailed - like fucking left the university - Nick lives alone. Like, the worst possible fucking thing is Nick turning him down, and he doesn’t really _think_ it’ll happen, but Dylan - he’s good at not getting him hopes up.

They’re in the library, which is a large change for them, and Nick is secretly snacking on chocolate pretzels while working on his physics homework. Dylan’s writing for the creative writing class that no one but Nick knows he’s taking. Dylan puts his notebook down.

“Do you wanna be my roommate?” he asks, quietly because it’s the fucking library. Nick turns to him, right away, raises his eyebrows. Dylan’s red.

“Like, my roommate bailed, and I know - I know you live alone, so I thought -”

“Dude, Dylan, calm down,” Nick laughs, hushed. “Of course we can be roommates.” Dylan knows that if this had been any other guy, he would’ve gotten grilled for how much he stuttered. But it’s only Nick.

Later that day, after confirming the move with the university, Dylan’s sprawled out on his bed, scrolling through instagram, the thought lingering in his head that Nick’s moving in tomorrow.

Speaking of him.

Dylan stops scrolling when he sees Nick’s instagram user, and he posted a picture from warm-ups. It’s actually the worst quality. Nothing interesting but - oh, _fuck_ the guy.

Dylan laughs out loud. _When @dylanstcyr wants to be your roommate_ 😬. That’s the fucking caption. Dylan shakes his head at his phone, and he’s the first one to comment.

 **dylanstcyr** I’m officially getting a single

And like - this is so false because Nick’s moving in _tomorrow_ , but he guesses that this is appropriate.

Dylan checks the post again in an hour, and there’s a few other comments he skims.

 **calemorriss** Please

 **nick_sanford30** @calemorriss that’s enough out of you

Dylan doesn’t understand it, not at all, but it’s in the back of his mind when he finally drifts off to sleep.

 

Notre Dame has an astonishing season.

They win sixteen games in a row, spanning from November to January. Nick and Dylan don’t play, but they don’t care. Dylan started a couple times toward the beginning of the season, picking up a couple of wins and a couple of losses. He’s relieved Cale a couple of times as well. Nick has yet to play, but he’s - he seems fine. If he isn’t, Dylan thinks he’s done a pretty fucking good job not showing it.

Dylan doesn’t start for the rest of the regular season, and he and Nick just ride along. Notre Dame’s playing solid hockey, and before they know it, it’s February and the playoffs don’t seem too far off.

It’s February, and it’s 51 degrees for a day, a nice change in South Bend. They’re laid out in front of the Grotto, sitting on a blanket and finishing up work in the midst of their 2 day vacation from hockey. Dylan’s sitting up, against a tree, and Nick’s legs are resting on top of Dylan’s, laid out on his back and reading some huge novel for literature. Because Nick takes literature.

Dylan trying to figure out some stupidly difficult formula for chem when Nick puts his book down. Dylan glances toward Nick for a second and back down at his sheet, making little to no progress.

Nick lets out a breath. “You think I’ll play?” he breaks the delicate silence between them, faintly hearing the sounds of student in the distance. Dylan sets his binder down, near Nick’s legs, and he really looks at him. Because with the playoffs coming up, _neither_ of them will play, and Dylan doesn’t want to tell -

“Not - not this season, I know that,” Nick falters. “Just, like - d’you think I’ll ever play here?” Dylan _hates_ the way Nick’s voice sounds, like he’s just - like he’s not good enough. Dylan nods, sure.

“Of course you’ll play, what do you mean?” Dylan tells him easily, and he almost feels the rise and fall of Nick’s chest. Nick rubs his eyes, out of habit. Dylan notices. He notices a lot of things.

“I don’t know, just - Cale’s a sophomore, and he’s ridiculous, and even when _he_ graduates - ” Nick cuts himself off with a sharp breath. “And you’re so _good_ and I just - I don’t think -”

“You’re gonna play, are you kidding?” Dylan almost has to laugh because - why the fuck would Nick think this. Nick doesn’t laugh, though, and Dylan all of a sudden feels like an ass. He didn’t think this was his fault, but it - maybe -

“I’m not blaming you for anything, calm down,” Nick says with a breathy laugh, and Dylan wants to die because his worried face was probably a dead giveaway. Nick picks up his book again, and Dylan waits until his eyes a moving, scanning the page until he looks back down at his chem homework.

 

The Irish make the playoffs. Comfortably.

They play Penn State in the Big Ten semifinal, and Nick and Dylan sit next to each other on the bench, anxiously watching play fold out before them.

It’s 2-2 with a minute to go in the third. Notre Dame _can’t_ keep going into overtime, and it’s stressful as fuck. This is when Dylan is thankful that he’s on the _bench_ for once in his fucking life.

It’s tied, it’s hell, it’s tied, until it’s not.

Dylan and Nick stand up in unison when Jenkins fires the puck.

Blocked.

Dylan blinks and he gets the rebound, fires it -

Holy shit.

Nick _hugs_ Dylan and then they’re jumping off up and down on the bench, and Dylan fights the urge to jump right off the bench.

He looks over at Nick and he’s grinning, grinning right back him and Dylan could melt.

They go out to celebrate the win a couple hours later.

They’re at some bar in South Bend, and with a couple of fake id’s they’ve got more than enough drinks, and it’s just. A lot, for Dylan. He watches his teammates gulp down drinks like it’s nothing, and _specifically_ \- specifically Nick.

Nick’s been next to Matt - another one of the freshmen - practically _all_ night. Dylan shouldn’t even care in the slightest, because Matt’s a nice guy. A funny one. He’s perfect, pretty much, and before Dylan knows it, his feet are taking him over to Nick and Matt and that’s just. Really good for him.

Nick’s eyes light up when he’s sees Dylan. “Dyl, my man!” he slurs and Dylan has to laugh because Nick is so fantastically drunk.

Dylan smiles, crooked. “Hey, buddy, how’re ya’ doin’?” he says easily, gently, and Nick laughs brightly in response. He presses himself into Dylan’s side, and Dylan does his best not to tense. He does a good job, or at least he thinks he does. Nick turns toward him, and Dylan can feel Nick’s breathing by his ear. Dylan shivers and it’s not cold.

Nick grabs Dylan’s shoulder. “I’m going to ask that girl if she’s single,” Nick whispers, and Dylan sucks in a breath. He clenches his fist and - _fuck_ , Dylan doesn’t understand himself. Like - he cares. He cares a lot. Dylan cares about Nick _so much_ and he _hates_ that he hates _this_. Dylan gulps. “Go for it, buddy,” and he watches Nick stumble over to the girl. He watches.

Later, when Dylan comes up to him to tell him he’s leaving, Nick says he’ll see him later.

 

Dylan doesn’t hear Nick come in, but he wakes up before him the next morning.

Dylan’s not hungover, only has a slight painful pang in his forehead, thinks water will do the trick. He goes on his computer after, back pressed against the wall and facing Nick, who’s sound asleep in his clothes from last night.

Nick wakes up an hour and a half later, with a groan. Dylan glances over and Nick’s sitting up, rubbing his eyes lazily.

“Fuck,” he groans, and Dylan thanks his last night’s self for not drinking a sufficient amount of alcohol. Go him.

“Advil’s on the counter,” Dylan says, without a good morning, and Nick nods before slowly getting out of bed and making his way toward the Advil.

Nick swallows a couple of pills with a gulp of water, and he leans on the counter, facing Dylan on his bed.

“Jesus, how drunk was I last night?” Nick laughs, lightening the mood. Dylan chuckles, doesn’t really know how to respond. Nick walks over to his bed a sits, bottle of water in his hand.

“Did I do anything stupid?” Nick asks, mostly as a joke, and Dylan closes his computer. Nick looks at him, confused.

Dylan pulls a leg up to his chest. “You tried to get with a girl,” Dylan mentions, and Nick freezes. Dylan’s never been _this_ awkward around him. Nick makes a hand gesture, like it’s no big deal. They make eye contact again and Nick can’t keep it.

Dylan makes a fist into his pillow. “So?” is all he says and from how Nick tenses, he seems to know what he means.

Nick shrugs. “Didn’t work out,” he replies simply, and Dylan’s mad at himself for being mad at Nick, because now Nick looks fucking _awful_.

“Sorry, bud, I -”

“No, no, don’t be,” Nick says quickly, distantly. Dylan crosses his eyebrows because - because Nick just doesn’t sound like himself. Dylan opens his mouth to speak, Nick cuts him off.

“It just didn’t work out,” Nick fumbles with his fingers and Dylan decides to drop it. He grabs his phone off of the nightstand.

“I can mobile order some Starbucks if you’re down?” Dylan glances up from his phone and Nick grins, nodding. Dylan smiles in response, and Nick doesn’t even need to speak because Dylan already knows his order by heart.

 

Notre Dame beats Ohio State at home in overtime. They win the Big Ten.

The game is tied at 2 for most of the third period, after a brutally early tying goal. Minute into the game. It’s really neck and neck, and Ohio State is fucking _good_ at hockey, so Notre Dame’s got a lot to worry about.

So it goes to ot and Cam buries it 9 minutes in and then they’re all jumping off the bench in unicen, and Dylan’s got his hands up in the air, a silent thank you. Nick turns his head back, toward Dylan behind him, grins.

They skate into the hug, and _god_ , it feels so _good_. They lift the trophy, in front of the incredible home crowd. Dylan’s face hurts from smiling so much. They take pictures, lots of them. Nick’s next to Dylan the whole time and Dylan thinks about a lot of things; the game winner, the trophy, the Frozen Four, but he mostly thinks about Nick pressed against his side.

It’s just so _close_. Nick had been talking his ear off about how insane it would be to hoist that trophy - the NCAA champions trophy - but Dylan just. Didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Now they’re here, and there’s no turning back.

The guys eventually let themselves calm down and lineup in front of the goal, arms thrown over each others shoulder. The crowd mimics it, because it’s Notre Dame, and the alma mater is the most important. Dylan looks up at the ceiling when the band starts playing.

_Notre Dame, our Mother_

_Tender, strong and true._

Dylan thinks about how fucking _lucky_ he is. He committed to Michigan. He was going to play for an incredible hockey team, the team he grew up watching in his small town in Michigan.

_Proudly in the heavens,_

_Gleams thy gold and blue._

One panic attack led to another, and Dylan St. Cyr, star goalie from the National Development Program, was decommitting from Michigan. And one thing led to another and Notre Dame was the school that wanted him, and suddenly - suddenly the school that _he_ wanted.

_Glory’s mantle cloaks thee_

_Golden is thy fame,_

 

Notre fucking Dame. This is his family. Dylan looks over to Nick. He’s got this grin on his face, belting the alma mater. Dylan smiles.

_And our hearts forever_

 

_Praise thee Notre Dame._

Dylan thinks about the day he met Nick. How he was stressing over another goalie in the program. And then they met, and Nick was the nicest person he’d ever met in his entire life. One thing leads to another and they’re roommates, and Dylan has one night terror he hadn’t had since junior year and he - Nick was immediately up and by his side. He’s _always_ been by his side. And he _will_ be for three more years.

_And our hearts forever,_

Nick looks back at Dylan. Nick flashes him a toothy grin, which Dylan returns. This is home. Notre Dame is his home. Notre Dame hockey is his home. Nick is his home.

 _Love thee Notre Dame_!

 

They’re all engulfed in a hug, after lifting the trophy, when Bobby yells “Cardiac kids!” And he couldn’t be more right.

They’re the cardiac kids, and they’re all in this together.

 

The Irish go to Bridgeport to play Michigan Tech. They win, 4-3, in overtime. Jords wins it.

Overtime is fucking stressful, Dylan decides, but it doesn’t matter. They live another day. They’re one game closer to the Frozen Four. One game closer to a national championship.

Dylan could only dream.

After beating Providence a couple of nights later and securing their spot in the Frozen Four, the team goes out to the first bar they find in Bridgeport.

Nick’s been clinging to Dylan’s side the whole time, which Dylan’s not necessarily _mad_ about but he’s - concerned, or whatever. Dylan’s not a fucking therapist, he wouldn’t know. He’s just a backup goalie who takes a creative writing class every Tuesday.

Dylan sits down in a booth, beer in hand thanks to his seniors, and Nick slides in next to him. Dylan looks over to him, and Nick - he’s got his arms crossed over his chest, hugging himself. Dylan puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay, bud?” he asks, gently but aware of their surroundings. Nick shivers, nods.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry,” Nick replies, unsteadily and shaking his head. Dylan doesn’t take his eyes off of Nick. Nick seems to shrivel under Dylan’s gaze, merely shakes it off.

“Don’t apologize,” Dylan says easily and Nick looks back at him.

“No, I - Don’t worry about me,” Nick makes some sort of hand gesture when Dylan looks at him skeptically. “We’re going to the fuckin’ Frozen Four! You’re not _allowed_ to worry about me, okay?” A small smile hints at Dylan’s mouth, Nick grins and suddenly it’s like nothing was wrong in the first place.

It’s kind of crazy. That one person can do that to you.

Nick holds up his glass for cheers, and Dylan complies. He ignores the bad feeling in his gut when he sips his beer, and ultimately just decides to just forget.

 

They beat Michigan in the semifinal with six seconds to go. They lose to Duluth in the final.

It’s _awful_. Nick buries his face into his hands when the final buzzer sounds - when the Duluth boys are throwing their gloves into the air and cheering like there’s no tomorrow. There _is_ no tomorrow, it’s just - the Irish will wake up in painful, pitiful agony.

They eventually get off of the bench and skate of to Cale and - that just makes it all worse. Cale’s got tears in his eyes when the guys are skating up to him, tapping him on the shoulder with sympathy. Goalies _hate_ sympathy. Dylan knows after he fucking _scored_ on himself at - that doesn’t matter now.

This time - when they line up for the alma mater - Dylan feels a twang in his stomach and it’s not pride.

They’re back at their dorm from Minnesota at 2:00 in the morning, and Dylan doesn’t think he’s going to sleep. Nick - he hasn’t cried, hasn’t spoken. Dylan mumbles that he’s going to take a shower and Nick doesn’t respond. He sits down on his head, props his elbows on his knees and looks down at the stained carpet.

Dylan turns the water on and makes it burning hot, and when he steps in it hurts but it hurts so good. He tries to wash off all of the pain and regret but no amount of soap could ever wash away what he really feels like.

And the loss has nothing to do with this.

He stays in the shower for close to twenty minutes, or whenever his fingers get pruney. He dries himself off quickly, throws on some ND sweats and a USA hockey t-shirt runs fingers through his hair before stepping into the room. Dylan walks out and he stops when he sees Nick.

Nick hasn’t moved from the position he was in when Dylan started showering but he’s - his hands are shaking where they’re hold the sides of his head up. Dylan steps closer.

“Nick? What’s wrong?” he asks, gently, and Nick shakes his head. Dylan feels so fucking helpless, because he has no idea what to do and he’s never been told in the _slightest_ what to do in this situation.

Nick rubs his eyes agonizingly. “I can’t fucking tell you,” he says to himself - whispers, really - and Dylan’s confused. They’ve told each other _everything_ , he doesn’t know why this is different.

Dylan sits down next to him. “Nick,” he says, mostly just to fill the empty face with something other than Nick’s sniffles.

Dylan thinks for a minute. “We’ll get ‘em next -”

“It’s not the fucking loss, Dylan,” Nick interrupts and Dylan shuts his mouth. Dylan’s not sure what he should say, maybe it’s better to just leave it and talk to him in the morning -

“I - We’ll talk in the morning, okay?” Dylan says softly, and he starts to get up until he feels Nick grab his forearm. Dylan locks eyes with Nick, and - he looks fucking _terrified_. Dylan sits back down as Nick shakes his head.

“No, I -” Nick cuts himself off. “Sorry, I just - I can’t keep this a secret anymore,” Nick’s voice is nasally, wet with tears. Dylan puts a hand on Nick’s shoulder, waits. Nick sucks in a breath. He fists a hand into his bedding.

“That night, after we beat Penn,” Nick looks at Dylan and he nods, prompting Nick to continue.

Nick taps his foot on the carpet anxiously. “I was so - so -”

“Drunk,” Dylan finishes, and Nick fights the ends of his lips curling up. He’s quickly serious again.

“Yeah, I just - that girl. That I wanted to - to get with,” Nick continues quietly, and Dylan’s holding his breath. “I didn’t - I didn’t do it. I couldn’t.”

Dylan’s mouth is dry. “Why?” he asks, and this is pushing it but he can’t _not_ ask this. He sees another tear fall from Nick’s eye, and if his heart wasn’t fucked before, it is now.

Nick blinks before looking Dylan straight in the eye. “I’m gay,” he says. Dylan lets out a breath, and he doesn’t realize he doesn’t say anything in response until Nick looks away and starts rubbing his eyes.

“Nick, you’re fine, breathe,” Dylan says quickly, keeping one hand on his shoulder and putting his other on Nick’s knee. Nick doesn’t look at Dylan. Dylan can feel the rise and fall of his chest and his rapid breathing under his hands.

“You’re okay,” Dylan says once Nick’s breathing calms, mostly because he thinks he has to. Nick still doesn’t look Dylan in the eye, but Dylan doesn’t mind.

“How long have you,” Dylan doesn’t want to finish, hopes that Nick understands him. Nick shrugs, running a hand through his hair. He looks at Dylan, finally, and his eyes are bloodshot.

“I guess I’ve - I’ve always known, really,” he says, stumbling through his words. “Just took me some time to - you know. Figure shit out.” And Nick’s voice is hoarse but at least he isn’t crying anymore. Dylan nods understandably. Nick glances over.

“Do you care?” Nick asks with a small voice and Dylan could punch him. He’s - he could literally kiss Nick right now and Dylan’s never been more bipolar in his life.

“No. You’re still you, I don’t fucking care,” Dylan says with a smile, nudging Nick’s side and Nick manages a small smile. Dylan glances at the alarm clock - almost 3:00am.

“Let’s sleep, yeah?” Dylan asks lightly. Nick nods slowly, and Dylan gets up off of Nick’s bed. Nick slowly leans over to his side - facing Dylan’s bed - and pulls his navy comforter over his body. He’s pretty much out the minute his head hits the pillow, and Dylan does his best to get comfortable underneath the covers. He tosses and turns and hopes Nick can’t hear him.

He’s got a lot to think about this year.

 

Dylan and Nick (along with the rest of the team) are thrown back into reality of college without hockey, and it’s hard at first. Going to classes and not meeting up after for a walk to the rink. Catching up with work they missed while in Minnesota. It’s rough, for a little while.

April comes and goes and then it’s May, finals time, and Dylan doesn’t really have time to think about himself. All of his time goes into studying, studying, studying, for a while. He’s spending Friday’s in the library, studying for Gov, mostly. It’s one particular Friday - less than a week until his Gov final (the last one of the year) - when he’s sitting in the library and gets a text from Nick.

 **nick**  
ever feel like complete shit

Worry brews in Dylan stomach as he turn his attention away from his studying, the last thing he should be doing right now.

 **dylan**  
what’s wrong dude

 **nick**  
i don’t know anymore

 **nick**  
i guess it’s just a lot of things

Dylan rubs his temples before replying.

 **dylan**  
finals can do that to ya

It takes a long time - too long - before Nick responds. The three dots appear, then disappear. They appear again.

 **nick**  
not finals. other stupid shit

Dylan looks down at his phone tentatively, fiddles with the pencil tucked behind his ear.

 **dylan**  
if you feel like shit it’s not stupid, nick

 **nick**  
i want to think that, i just don’t believe myself

 **nick**  
but feelings are actual shit, dyl

Dylan forgets how to breathe. Oh, _fuck_ , he agrees with that on a fucking spiritual level. And he’d feel like like the biggest fucking hypocrite if he asked Nick what he felt, because Dylan has told Nick absolutely _everything_ except for the biggest secret he has.

 **dylan**  
i couldn’t agree more

It takes a minute for Nick to respond again. Dylan nervously drums his fingers on the library desk.

 **nick**  
thanks for talking to me

 **dylan**  
i didn’t do anything

 **nick**  
it just helps i guess. talking about things

Dylan feels his heart dive in his chest while he types out a reply.

 **dylan**  
i’ll help you anytime you need me, dude

 **nick**  
❤️

 **dylan**  
❤️

Dylan turns off his phone and doesn’t think he’ll be getting any studying done anytime soon.

 

Dylan and Nick finish all of their finals within two days of each other, and then it’s just - blurry. Dylan’s mom is calling him before he knows it, and she’s already booked him a flight home to Michigan. He’s got two days to pack up all his shit, and two days to watch Nick make phone calls to his parents who had neglected to book a flight back to New Jersey.

It’s prominent how stressed Nick is on an innocent May afternoon, 24 hours before Dylan’s on his flight. Dylan’s doing his best to fold some t-shirts to put in his suitcase. Nick’s in the bathroom on the phone, the door locked and Dylan can hear muffled conversation. He mostly thinks nothing of it, considering it’s hard to hear and Dylan’s gotten close to no packing done. He’s mindlessly grabbing his shirts when he hears a sharp shout, and he drops his shirt.

 _”I know I didn’t - Dad - This has nothing - give me a break!”_ Dylan can’t make out all what Nick is yelling, but this - he’s never seen Nick get mad. He’s been frustrated, sad - to say the least - but this is different. Dylan decides not to completely eavesdrop and tries to continue packing.

After a few minutes Nick opens the door and throws his phone onto his bed. He slides the desk chair out and sluggishly sits down, and Dylan turns toward him.

“Everything okay?” Dylan asks, voice soft, gentle. It’s a stupid question, really, because obviously not everything’s okay if Nick was just yelling at his father in the bathroom of their dorm. Nick shrugs, makes a gesture Dylan reads as _more or less_.

“I made that an unnecessary fight,” Nick replies, looking down at his feet. Dylan says nothing, waits for Nick to elaborate. Nick grips the side of his chair.

“My dad was just saying that he _finally_ booked a flight after god knows how long,” Nick lets out a breath. “And then my dad just mentioned the Frozen Four and obviously I got a little touchy - because -” Nick cuts himself off and Dylan nods, understandingly. Nick shakes his head.

“I guess I was just too - too irritated, and we started talking about playing time and he was just giving me all this shit but I just fucking _led him on_ ,” Nick sounds like he wants to say more but he doesn’t, and Dylan feels awful.

“You can’t put in all on yourself, man. You have the right to be -”

“I don’t think I’m angry because of the playing time,” Nick blurts out, and Dylan closes his mouth. Nick looks anxious, drumming his fingers against the mahogany wood chair.

“Well, what do you think it is?” Dylan asks, genuinely curious and Nick bites his lip, finally looks up at Dylan.

Nick blinks. “It’s just - I’m going to be with my family for the whole fucking _summer_ , and it’s like -” he pauses. “I’m gonna be hiding this huge ass secret and I don’t know if I can do that.” Dylan opens his mouth to say something, but Nick interrupts.

“And there’s no fucking way I’m ready to tell them,” he shakes his head, voice quivering as he does. Dylan thinks, and he’s so out of depth and he can’t seem to give any good advice.

Because Dylan’s got _the same fucking problem_ , except he hasn’t even told his best friend yet. In a way, Dylan hasn’t even told himself.

They talk for another hour, and Dylan convinces Nick to tell his younger sister in highschool. They make their plans - Nick driving Dylan to the South Bend airport at seven the next morning. Dylan does his best and finally finishes his procrastinated packing, and Nick takes a long shower to rid himself of the ‘bad vibes’, as Dylan told him (hey, it may have been fucking stupid but at least Nick laughed). They get the bed just before midnight - which isn’t good for their cause in terms of sleeping - and they don’t talk about how it’s their last night in this dorm together.

Nick’s turned on his side, toward Dylan. “‘Night, Dyl.”

Dylan smiles at the ceiling. “‘Night, Nick,” he replies like the idiot he is, and freshman year is done with one blink.

 

The summer goes smoothly, after adjusting from hectic collegiate life.

Dylan returns to Michigan and his family is ecstatic and won’t stop talking about the five fucking games he played. It’s a lot, at first, but when the initial shock burns off it’s like he never left.

Nick arrives in New Jersey a week later, and Dylan facetimes him last night. He asks Nick if he told his sister, and after a lengthy pause, Nick says he’ll get to it soon. Dylan gets it. Sort of.

They facetime most nights, and it’s nice, really. To get away. Dylan’s always found it so easy to talk to Nick, whether it be about shit that’s on his mind or something stupid his brother said. It’s the stupid comments - like after the fourth, when Dylan got this brutal sunburn - that make Dylan’s whole day. And soon it’s mid July, they’ve got their room assignments (together, of course) and Dylan catches himself thinking about Notre Dame a lot more. And Nick. He also thinks about him more.

 

Nick comes out to his sister in July.

All he has to do is text Dylan three words.

 **nick**  
i told her

Dylan’s sitting at the pool - was, until he gets the text and excuses himself.

 **dylan**  
dude that’s awesome, how’d it go?

 **nick**  
she took it really well, almost cried lol

Dylan is grinning at his phone like an idiot, and it’s all for good measure. It’s - he’s - he’s _proud_ , he’s so fucking proud.

 **dylan**  
i’m so glad

 **dylan**  
really proud of u for doing that bud

Nick’s response makes Dylan’s heart swell. He’s so fucked.

 **nick**  
i really wouldn’t be able to do this without u, thank u so much. i love u

 **dylan**  
no problem bud. love u too

Sophomore year can’t come fast enough.

 

Two weeks before they’re supposed to be back at Notre Dame, Nick calls Dylan at three in the morning.

Dylan jumps out of his sleep when he hears his annoying ringtone, but panics when he sees that it’s Nick calling him. Like - it could very well be him being an idiotic asshole - but Dylan’s a worrier, okay?

He sits up quickly, unplugs his phone, and answers the call. “Hello? Nick?”

He hears a shaky sigh from the other side of the line. “Dylan,” is the response, and it doesn’t sound good. He’s - it’s obvious Nick’s been crying, and Dylan knows this just from Nick saying his name.

“Dude, are you okay? What’s wrong?” Dylan asks frantically, and there’s no response for Nick. Not right away. Dylan rubs his eyes.

“Nick?”

“I-I - Dylan,” Nick’s definitely crying now, and Dylan is definitely panicking. He waits a few more seconds to see if Nick will keep talking and he doesn’t.

“Nick, you gotta tell me what’s wrong, buddy,” Dylan tries to keep his voice from shaking a tremendous amount. He doesn’t think he succeeds. He hears Nick collect his breaths and he just. Waits.

“My - my sister,” Nick starts and Dylan already feels an awful feeling in his gut. “She told my fucking _family_.”

Dylan’s mouth goes dry and he’s never met Katie but he wants to fucking sock her in the mouth. Nick sounds so sad, so fucking scared and Dylan doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s almost as bad as when Nick first came out to him, but at the same time this is so much _worse_.

Nick sniffles. “She told them, and I - my brother wouldn’t even _look_ at me,” he trails off, and Dylan can tell that he’s trying to keep from sobbing while on the phone. Dylan’s grip on his phone is so tight, and he’s trying not to lose himself while talking to Nick.

“Oh my god, Nick, I am so sorry,” Dylan says from the bottom of his heart but it’s so _lacking_. It’s so not enough. “You don’t deserve any of that.”

Nick coughs on the other end. “I - I had to leave, I couldn’t stay -” Nick cuts himself off and if Dylan wasn’t worried before, he’s absolutely _beside himself_ now. He sits up straighter.

“Where are you?” he asks suddenly, and Nick gives no response. Dylan can almost _feel_ how hard Nick’s breathing over the phone.

“Nick, where are you?” Dylan presses again, because he really needs Nick to answer him now. He’s about to talk again until Nick -

“Bend, I couldn’t -” Nick pauses. “I had to leave, I’m our room,” Nick is getting really hard to understand but this is just all too much for Dylan to comprehend at - 3:08 in the morning. Nick is calling Dylan from Notre Dame at 3:08 in the morning. Makes a lot of sense.

“How did you get to South Bend?” Dylan tries to control his tone as much as possible, and he hears Nick hold back what sounds like a mix of a sob and a cough.

“I - I drove, I took my high school car,” Nick says quickly. Dylan’s eyes almost pop out of his head because Nick drove almost 10 fucking hours without even telling him. He doesn’t say this out loud, doesn’t want to risk Nick getting even more upset.

Dylan doesn’t realize he hasn’t responded until Nick speaks up again. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stay there, not when my own brother won’t even _look at me_ ,” Nick sniffles again and Dylan thinks he’s such a shit person.

“Nick, don’t even apologize, I’m -” Dylan glances at his alarm clock. His wall calendar. His bags that have started to seemingly pack themselves. “I’m coming back. I’m coming back to South Bend.”

 

His parents protest, but Dylan is on a direct flight to South Bend in two days (which is too long, if you’re asking Dylan). It’s so abrupt and so early but he just - Dylan can’t really explain his actions in words. Nick has texted Dylan six different times today with different combinations of _thank you_ ’s and an _i don’t deserve this_ and Dylan’s spent the day replying with hearts and just so Nick remembers that everything’s fine. He’s fine.

When Dylan’s on the plane that day, he realizes how fucked he really is.

Dylan’s really - he’s never truly come out to himself. He’s never gone to a bar and been 100% set on picking up a guy. It’s - gradual, really. He’s seen a few guys, found them attractive and then and then and then. He’s never been full blown in love with a guy.

Dylan thinks about this on the plane. Thinks about being in love.

He could probably go for a girl. It wouldn’t be hard and he’d live the perfect life with a girl who loved him and they’d start a family. He could probably do that. It’s safer, really. To settle.

Dylan’s never really considered settling down with - with _not_ a girl. He’s obviously into guys, it’s just - it’s hard. Dylan thinks about how fucking _difficult_ it is to really find him, have the feeling be mutual and really spend your entire life with that person.

The thing is, Dylan thinks he could really do that. Settle with that guy.

Telling his parents is one thing, but all he’d have to do - Dylan just needs to accept _himself_. He’s had countless conversations with Nick about self love and how he’s done nothing wrong. It’s funny, almost, because he’s the one giving advice when he’s living behind an even bigger shadow. He just needs the flashlight. The flashlight to kill the shadow.

 

Dylan’s never ran up the steps to a fucking dorm room until now.

He’s just trying to get there - to the dorm. To _Nick_ , who’s been there for days thinking he’s done absolutely everything wrong.

Dylan reaches the door breathing heavily, and he knocks as soon as he builds up the courage. It takes a moment, and then the door is opening and Nick is standing there and _fuck_.

Dylan immediately hugs him, wraps his arm over Nick’s shoulders and Nick’s hugging back right away. Dylan shuts the doors with the back of his foot while Nick buries his face into his neck and it’s so _much_.

“Hey,” Dylan says quietly, and Nick pulls away after what seemed like an eternity. Nick gives him a smile and it’s not necessarily sad, but - it’s different. Nick seems different.

“Hi,” Nick replies and his voice is hoarse, exhausted. He moves aside and lets Dylan really walk into the dorm, and it’s - an upgrade. Sort of. Dylan throws his bag onto the untouched bed, and he feels bad. Bad that Nick had to live here by himself for - god, he doesn’t even know how long.

“Sorry, I couldn’t - ah. Be here sooner,” Dylan says lamely, with a sigh. Nick furrows his eyebrows and leans on the post of his bed. Looks at Dylan like he has six heads.

“Are you kidding? You couldn’t have been here faster!” Nick says with a laugh and Dylan has to laugh back, tries not to feel as bad. Nick looks down at his feet, shifts his weight and Dylan notices that he seems - uncomfortable, almost. He can’t bring himself to say anything.

Nick shrugs. “You didn’t have to come here, y’know,” he says quietly, voice almost a whisper. Dylan steps closer, and now _he’s_ looking at Nick like he’s crazy.

“I - Nick,” Dylan falters. “Don’t worry about me.” Nick looks up at that, and there a lot - closer, now. Nick’s breathing is even; Dylan tries not stare at the rise and fall of his chest, covered by a green warm up t-shirt. The room is quiet, so quiet. Nick doesn’t move his gaze from Dylan’s, leans forward and off of the bedpost.

“I do worry about you, Dyl,” Nick whispers, and Dylan almost _shivers_ because he feels Nick’s breath on him. The silence is deafening, and this is just so _much_.

And Dylan might know nothing, he might know absolutely nothing, but he does know that he wants this.

“Nick,” he breathes, and he brings one hand to Nick’s shoulder. He feels Nick shudder, when he does, watches Nick close his eyes. Dylan doesn’t know how much time passes - could be a minute, could be ten, could be forty. He squeezes his hand on Nick’s shoulder, and Nick closes his eyes. Nods.

Dylan doesn’t wait another moment to pass before their lips meet.


End file.
